


Haven

by Romennim



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Second Person, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just want to drown in your pain. Fortunately, now there is someone who wants to hold you up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Rifugio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/650240) by [Romennim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim)



> Thanks again to 1lostone, for her help and support. Any remaining mistake is mine  
> As for the story, this is just a little idea that occurred to me some time ago while thinking about the boys. As it usually happens when I write, the written piece is a bit different from the thing I thought about when I started to write. There's more hurt.  
> Hope you enjoy anyway.

Water pouring down.  
  
Your eyes are closed and your mind is trying, almost frantically, to focus only on the flow that is running around you, as if protecting you from the harsh reality outside those four walls, a reality whose invisible marks are on you even today.  
  
Water continues to pour down.  
  
Your right eye has a darkening bruise, the wound across your chest is not fully healed yet (Bones told you that sometimes things just need to fix themselves without help) and your left arm is still sore from the fall you had while trying to do something both heroic and stupid.  
  
Something you don't want to remember right now.  
  
The water pouring down is something so much better to focus on.  
  
First, it's safe. Second, it doesn't fall apart if you pay attention to something else for a moment. A great quality, you think bitterly.  
  
Suddenly the water isn't hot enough. Your right hand moves to change the temperature, but, as your fingers wrap themselves around the control (that is probably one of the rare, wholly manual controls still left on the entire ship, since the computer can’t distinguish voices clearly above the sound of water), a sharp pain shoots from your knuckles to your shoulder and suddenly it's impossible to not think about your day: a routine diplomatic mission, the false sense of security of being among allies, the trap, the fight, the wounded, the dead.  
  
You rest your head against the wall, but now the hot flow of water is not comforting anymore, because you know, you're painfully aware that it's a lie. Everything is just waiting for you to come out and it will be on you in an instant.  
  
You seriously think about the possibility of not coming out again.  
  
But your skin is beginning to wrinkle and the sorrow that has started again to eat your heart won't be delayed much more.  
  
You press your head harder against the wall, eyes closed so tightly – _don't think, don't think, don't think -_ to see white against the eyelids, as your legs are beginning to give out.  
  
Everything is too much to bear right now; was too, too much to do anything with it in the first place.  
  
As your knees begin to buckle, you feel a pair of arms sliding around your waist, keeping you up.  
  
Your first instinct, still riled up by your memories, is to get away from the intruder, but the unconscious, deep part of you recognizes in a instant the hot, naked body against your back.  
  
You relax immediately and let yourself go limp against the only certainty that you have left in the universe. An unpleasing part of you says quite forcefully that you shouldn't let yourself go like this with anyone, but you don't care.  
  
The only reaction you get when your body goes slack against him is a tightening of those arms; your unexpected haven in what has failed to be one.  
  
The water is still pouring down, but you begin to feel lightheaded even if he's holding you up. Your skin is heated, too sensible now. You feel as if the water has punished, cleansed you. It doesn't make you feel better. Rather the contrary.  
  
You have been in the shower for too long.  
  
He must have sensed it too, because you feel him move and his lips brush against your ear.  
  
“Let me help you wash.”  
  
You just nod. You don't have enough strength to do anything else.  
  
The arms slowly let go of you, carefully enough to make sure you don't fall down.  
  
The movements are so full of care that your heart nearly melts and your mind wonders how you could have been so lucky to get all of this. Everything else but your love is momentarily forgotten.  
  
Strong hands begin to massage you, spreading soap all over your body.  
Their touch is soft, caring, and lingers in places that call directly to your heart. Suddenly you think that is what feeling loved is all about.  
  
This touch, this warmth, this care after an awful day.  
  
The hands are again at your waist pulling slightly to make you turn. You comply.  
Now it's your back pressed against the wall and you move just a bit so the water doesn't go down directly on your head.  
  
You don't open your eyes, though.  
  
You want to remain safely in your warm world, and even if you don't think that seeing him can make you feel less perfect than you feel right now, you fear that any tiny detail will throw you out of your little haven.  
  
The hands start again their movements. From your chest they go down to your stomach and then down a little more.  
You don't know if it's because of your tiredness or because of the utter caring in the touch (you understand it's not meant to have any other effect), but you don't begin to feel arousal at all. In any other circumstances, surely..  
  
It's just another movement that shows you the care he has for you, and you're happy that your body and your mind take it that way.  
You just want the comfort. The rest can wait and you're grateful that he can be everything for you. And that your brain, your body, or your libido, doesn't mess it up.  
  
  
  
Time is not passing as it normally does, and your mind must be quite absent, because you don't notice that the water has stopped falling down. Your body suddenly feels the cold air against your skin and you violently shiver. Your eyes shoots open: the shower door is open and you hear someone close a closet.  
  
You decide to close your eyes again for the moment. You want to live in your little bubble a bit longer.  
  
The next thing you're aware of is a soft and fluffy towel that dries you off.  
The sensation of warmth associated at the idea of being taken care of just intensifies.  
  
Reluctantly, though, you convince yourself to move so that the towel can be wrapped around you and you can go out.  
A hand rests at the small of your back to steady you until you sit on your bed.  
  
You decide to take a look around your room. The vase the Andorian ambassador gave you that you broke while thinking of Ensign Martinez's death (your mind doesn't want to think about it, but you force it to do it anyway, it's the least you can do), is no longer on the floor.  
And the light on the console that signals and incoming message is on.  
  
You briefly close your eyes and sigh.  
  
Sometimes you think that it's not fair, that it's not worth it.  
  
After those moments you recall every time why it is worth it, but now it's still too soon.  
  
He really can read your mind, because, after you sigh, just a few seconds pass before you hear his deep voice saying:  
  
“I will take care of it. Lie down.”  
  
If you weren't in this state, you would protest. After all, you have your duty. But now you just want to obey that voice. And to not think.  
  
You lie down.  
  
Under the covers, you snuggle a bit and you have an irrational desire to hug your pillow.  
You're not so wasted yet to actually do it, but if your knuckles are a bit white as your fingers grip the pillow, you are not aware of it.  
  
In the background you hear someone talk, but you don't care enough to try to understand what is said.  
You feel the full force of your exhaustion now, your muscles completely relaxed, almost devoid of life, and nothing could stop you from letting your mind do and wander where it wants.  
  
You're still enough aware, still not sleeping, when you sense someone – _him,_ your heart cries out _–_ sit down on the bed and slide under the covers.  
Strong, hot arms wrap themselves around your waist and you turn. Your head goes instinctively to rest on his chest, under his chin, and you snuggle against him. He becomes your pillow.  
  
For the first time today you feel content, and you let yourself curl up closer to him, moving like a cat (after every time it happens and he says it happened to let you know, you deny forcefully).  
  
Now, nothing can stop you from relaxing for real and falling into your exhaustion, while his hand caresses softly your back up and down.  
  
You feel safe. You feel at peace.  
  
You sleep.  
  
There's just a moment of awareness an indefinite time later when you hear someone speak.  
  
“How is he, Spock?”  
  
The hand stops.  
  
“He will be fine, Leonard. He always is.”  
  
The hand starts again.  
  
  
But, maybe, it's just a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on May 15th, 2010


End file.
